Wildfire
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: AU ClaireMyrnin. He's her teacher. She's not supposed to love him, right? Oneshot. R&R.


**An**: this is an AU fic, where Morganville doesn't exist, so Claire goes to MIT and meets Myrnin there. He does not suffer from the disease. She's closer to eighteen at this current time, not sixteen.

I don't own anything

**Don't** favourite without reviewing, thank you.

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_~x~_

The first time she realises there's something wrong with her college education is when she realises that she's the only person in the entire class. She knew that MIT were all for small classes – the smaller the better, apparently – but this took things to a whole new level. The room is big enough for fifteen, she hazards a guess, but it's darker than most classrooms, with the windows blocked up and the only light being artificial. _Maybe the teacher is a vampire_, she thinks for a second, her thoughts laughing as soon as she thinks this.

"Well, well, you must be Claire Danvers," her teacher greets her, and she can't help but be surprised he's so _young_ (looking) because apparently, he's the best one there is. She doesn't remember him being mentioned in the prospectus – she would have remembered the name _Myrnin_, and the lack of a surname – and yet she's heard so many things about him, she couldn't help but sign up to some of his classes. (Well, all of them, since that's how her timetable has worked out for this semester.)

"Yes…and you're Professor Myrnin?" she confirms, because he does look awfully young to have all this experience; he can't be older than about twenty five, she thinks, though there is something in his eyes that makes him seem as though he's seen all the wonders – and problems – the world has ever faced.

And when his face crinkles into a smile, wow, she doesn't think that she can do this, because he's irresistible, completely and truly. There's a crookedness to his smile that she heard all those senior cheerleaders go on about for however long, yet she had never been able to see that in Robert Pattinson or whomever they were discussing that week; yet here, now, she can see it in her teacher.

_Fuck_, she curses inwardly, then wonders irrationally if he can read minds,_ you can't find your teacher attractive, you just _can't.

"Just Myrnin is fine, thank you very much," he replies, and she wonders if this is a good idea, because it'll allow her a chance to imagine that he's not her teacher – does he _look_ like her teacher, _really_? – and start her on a road of irrefutable crushing. _He's probably married_, she thinks suddenly; _he'll be married and that's all this will ever be – a schoolgirl crush._

"Ah…ok then…um, Myrnin, shall we start?" she asks, and the way that he whirls around seems _too_ quick, there being an edge to his face that she didn't see before. _Maybe I've got the crazy one, the one who _looks_ like a heart-throb, but actually chops up his students and puts them in the pies._ She's seen Sweeney Todd; she knows what people can do, and she's beginning to fret over this, when he smiles, and alleviates all her fears.

He begins to teach her things she thought she wouldn't see till third year – the first two years are generally filled with things that she already knows, apparently – but he skips that right out, because evidently he's taken an interest into her history, and knows what she's capable of.

It makes a change from hapdash teaching and the feeling that she was never the most important. Here, with Myrnin, _she_ is the one who is important.

_~x~_

Within weeks, she's falling in love with him.

She told herself not to, told herself that relations between a student and a teacher are strictly forbidden for a reason, and the fact that there are no other students means that he could do anything – it's strange to think that she _wants_ to do those things that other girls always fantasise about, things that she's never thought of before. He's gorgeous and handsome, and yet still manages to pull off adorable, with the long, curly hair that he never cuts and the way his cheeks _almost_ carve out dimples whenever he smiles.

And there's the fact that he's the smartest male she's ever come across, which gives her a challenge to try and prove one of his theories wrong.

He starts to teach her things like alchemy and ancient Greek, things she knows aren't on the syllabus, yet she doesn't care because she's already two years ahead of the others in school, so she can take some time out and learn things, even if they are just magic. And anyway, whenever he teaches her alchemy, she can see something spark up inside of him that isn't there whenever he teaches modern science; he's an ancient studies scientist, she thinks, and there's almost the sense that he's actually _from_ that period of time.

_Don't be ridiculous; he's barely twenty six, if that. He's not from the Middle Ages, or before._

It's not until the last day before the Christmas Holidays that she does anything; he opens a bottle of champagne halfway through their lesson, flouting the usual 'no alcohol' rule, as well as the drinking with students law as well, and she takes more and more, having forgotten that she's never drank before because she's underage. Her head begins to feel lightheaded and fuzzy, and things she never thought she would share with anyone begin to come out before she can stop them.

"Missy Fforde is sleeping with the President's aid."

"Water in Birmingham, UK, contains artificially added fluorine."

"I think I love you."

The last one causes his head to shoot up, and even in her drunken state, she can see that his eyes are filled with torment and lust in equal measure, and that perhaps she shouldn't have said anything. Then again, she couldn't stop herself, so she pretends to be even less in control of herself than she actually is (it means she'll be able to remember) and when he moves towards her, she lifts her head up for their lips to meet.

It's electrifying, the feeling she gets when their lips meet, and even though he's the coldest human being she's ever touched, he warms up as she touches him. He kisses her back, harder than she thought, and for a second, she thinks that she's going to be broken in two, when his grip relaxes suddenly. Yet he doesn't stop kissing her, doesn't stop himself from muttering that he loves her as well, against her lips, even though she's drunk, so she won't remember this in the morning.

"I can't do this, not when you're drunk." He forces himself off her somehow, and she's left feeling rejected and about to protest, when she throws up right over his shoes. "I'll get the mop."

And he moves so fast, Claire can't believe her eyes.

(She doesn't. She believes that it's because of the drink, instead.)

_~x~_

She knocks on his door the next morning, having guaranteed that he's definitely, one hundred percent single, and that there won't be any hot, leggy blonde to make her feel completely inadequate. Her head is pounding – she's never drinking again – because it's only just 7am, yet he answers the door instantly, as though he's been up all night.

Something about his appearance tells her that he has, yet he doesn't look tired, because he never does. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and they're not crumpled whatsoever, so he's not been sleeping, but as he shows her wordlessly into his flat, she can see that he's been working with some old (valuable) documents, and conducting his own experiments in the far corner.

The entire room reminds her of scenes from the Medieval Period of history, when everything was wooden and…just had the _feeling_ that it was from the past. It doesn't make sense until she remembers that he likes to live in the past, she thinks, and so it just fits with his personality.

"I…I wanted to apologise for what I did last night." She initiates the conversation when it becomes clear he isn't going to do anything but stare at her, with a slightly hungry expression, which confuses her. "I wasn't proper and was drunk and…and…"

"You meant what you said, I know you did." He retorts, before seeming as though he regrets it; she thinks that he doesn't want to do this because of the student-teacher relationship ban. (It's because of the vampire issue, really.) "And I meant it, too…but this is wrong, Claire, wrong on so many levels that you wouldn't even believe what I could tell you about me."

There's something self-loathing in his voice, and she instantly wants to step forwards and soothe him, but she gets the feeling that he wouldn't want her to, so she stays where she is. "There's nothing wrong with you, _nothing_. You're the most amazing man I've ever come across, and…and I wish you weren't my teacher, no matter how scary this is for me to say, because then I could kiss you and not feel guilty."

His lips twist up into an approximation of a smile, and yet there's something dark and guarded about it, something in his eyes that, for one fleeting second, makes her think that he's going to kill her, or something. "That would be the issue, my little Claire. Being a man, I mean."

_He's not…he doesn't have a _vagina_, does he?_ She worries for a second, before realising that she loves him, so she wouldn't care.

"I don't mean like a transsexual," he hastily continues, having seen the look on her face… "My little Claire, how much of folklore do you believe?"

"Almost nothing…vampires can't exist, fairies are too small to sustain life, and werewolves, well, if you ever see a man turning into a dog and back, let me know, will you?" she replies instantly, and it's exactly the response he expected.

"In that case, I think it's best if we don't see each other any longer. I shall ensure that you receive the second best teacher after myself, and we need not cross one another's paths any longer." There's something final in his voice, and it startles her, because this has happened too fast, far too fast, and all because he got her drunk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to Paris to catch, to meet an old, _old_ friend who I haven't seen in far too long."

She gets the message. He wants her gone.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she realises that this is over, all because she doesn't believe in folklore and vampires and fairies and whatever other mythical creatures there are! It doesn't make sense, not at all, especially when they were so in sync; he understood her, and she understood him more than she's ever understood a person before. He could have been her everything,

It's a teenage response to follow him. She's a teenager with a large enough trust fund.

So she makes the decision to follow him to Paris.

_~x~_

They're on the same plane, though he's in first class and she's way back in coach, and he knows she has followed him. He can smell her, smell the incandescent, unmistakeable scent that is Claire Danvers, the one he's fleeing to Amelie to try and _forget_, because she wouldn't ever want to be with a vampire, would she? He's dangerous, not exciting, and it's not as though he has any control over it, because he chose eternal life for the chance to learn, not to fight. He doesn't want to destroy things or people, not besides what is necessary to survive, and that's left something in him that isn't in other vampires. He's a greater predator on the weak, and yet though she isn't weak, she's human, and that could be enough. Especially as he has feelings for her, feelings that won't go away, no matter what, and that kiss was the best moment of his current life, no question.

But he can't sit here and know that she'll follow him, and see firsthand that he's a vampire, so he may as well invite her up here, to his private room filled with things he can't leave America without, because he has copies of everything else in three other libraries around the world, and he can explain.

As he waits for the flight attendant to bring her down, he spies the copy of the mythology book he thought he had lost many years ago, and, with a wry smile, lifts it down; this can be his teaching aid. Because he sincerely doubts that she would be interested if he showed her firsthand.

_~x~_

She locks the door behind her, and he regrets that, because it'll make it harder for her to leave if she wants to – he won't make her stay, if she decides she doesn't want him because he's a vampire; he'll wipe her memory and then let her run off – before she sits down in the seat opposite him. They're so close, she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, but her attention is sparked by the book in his hands.

"Does the way that you made me leave have something to do with my lack of belief in mythical creatures?" she asks, confused, because this is the second time that she's seen or heard a reference to them.

"Absolutely, Claire," he smiles at her very slightly, knowing he could have always trusted her to have the brains to figure it out straight away. "And if I were to tell you I _was_ one of them…what would you say? Would you believe it, or…?"

Her entire body stiffens, because she knows what he is, or she thinks she does; she knew it right at the beginning, when she saw the windows blocked up, didn't she? She thought it, and thought it was stupid and idiotic and _completely_ insane, because they don't exist, do they?

"Vampire," she manages to utter out, her voice quieter than ever before, but she knows that he'll be able to hear her if this is true. She doesn't understand why she's thinking of this, doesn't understand how she could turn from being completely in love with the most perfect human man she's ever met, to find out she's in love with a vampire who has just been pretending to be human. "Is it true? Are you…are you a vampire?" her voice raises slightly, a slight hiccup in her throat, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

He doesn't touch her, which she's grateful for, and he actually stands up and moves as far away from her as possible, in the small space. "Yes. I…I didn't tell you, though I presumed that there would be the chance you would guess, as a member of staff did – he's still there, I just made him forget – with the lack of sunlight, the brains within such a young face…but I have never hurt you, or any other living person Claire, not whilst I've been at MIT. I couldn't do that; I chose to go there, to work, to pass on my knowledge and learn new, because that's why I _am_ this horrendous creature, why I decided immortality to learn was worth the price of being…of being _this_."

He sounds so broken, so utterly wretched, that she wants to comfort him, but she's completely frozen to the seat in which she sits, and anyway, he's a vampire; can she trust him again?

(She knows she will, because love is irrevocable, beautiful, completely complex and unable to be understood, and you can never fall out of love with someone if it's like this.)

"You said…you said that you can make people forget." She manages to choke this out, considering all her options – _can_ she love a vampire? – because if she can forget, maybe she'll want to. "Could you make me forget, if you wanted to? Could you make me forget that I had ever met you…that I ever loved you?"

He doesn't speak, merely nods slowly, his eyes downcast, and his entire frame in the shadow of one of the bookcases. _He's not a shadow creature_, she finds herself thinking¸ _he's a creature of bright lights and open spaces. He's not a monster_.

"I…if you give me your number, I'll call you, sometime after we land in Paris," she says decidedly. "I want a day to think about it, to decide whether or not I can actually love…love a _vampire._ Don't ask if I want to know anything, because I get the idea, and I'm only so calm because we're on a plane right now, filled with unsuspecting people. It's not a natural reaction, I know. But I want the day to think, and then I'll tell you if I want to see you again or not, deal?"

He doesn't speak as he hands her his phone to take the number; for the first time, she understands why his hand is so cold against hers, yet comfortably so.

(She should have _realised_.)

She doesn't speak either as she walks out of the room, fumbling with the door for a second, and as she returns to her seat in coach, tears begin to fall.

_Why does she have to love the man she shouldn't?_

_~x~_

Paris is beautiful.

The streets are filled with bumbling people, in this part of the city, with mismatched signs and a feeling of homeliness. It's different to anything she expected, because she never considered coming here so she never thought about it, yet her thoughts are completely consumed as she treks along streets and across parks, trying to understand what she wants.

She understands that she was strange in her reaction, that she should have wanted to kill him or scream when she found out, and she didn't; she wanted to comfort him, to make him know that she wasn't bothered, and that's what bothers her the most. If she's so capable of loving him so irrevocably, he could do _anything_ to her and she wouldn't care. And he's a vampire, so he'll never die. He'll never leave her.

But that could be a positive as well.

She's confused and unsure, but she finally comes to a decision and calls him. He's with his _friend_, someone he's known for a long time, he explains hurriedly on the phone, a tone to his voice that makes her know he's worried for what her decision is, and he can be anywhere in the city in half an hour, tops.

(He doesn't say tops; she just thinks it.)

Against the backdrop of the Parisian lights, she finds herself wandering up to the Eiffel Tower, a structure which amazed her from afar, and she wonders if she could be so cheesy as to tell him to come here to meet her, to see the bright lights and shining beauty of the twisted metal structure as she tells him her decision.

(She is.)

And he arrives within fifteen minutes, his hair flopping the way that she's liked for the entire time she's known him, his expression guarded as he stops a good five metres from her. She desperately wants to cross over to him, to tell him that he's who she wants, but the panic strikes her, as she thinks that she could just destroy herself here.

_Maybe I've made the wrong decision_.

So they walk silently up the stairs, not touching, not talking, not doing anything to indicate they're together, other than for him to tell her where to avoid the holes in the steps.

They emerge onto the top platform a long while later, and she can't help but gasp at the beauty of the scenery, the way that the city dips and rolls around her on one side, grass on the other, and it's more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. In the twilight, the dusky pink sky twinkles with stars which seem so much closer from up here, even amidst the polluted sky from the city, and Claire can understand why this is the city of love.

It's perfect.

He's waiting, and as she tries to find the words to what she wants to say, she reads his eyes, realising that there is no contest; he's in love with her as much as she's in love with him, and that it sickens him, because who is _he_ to cut short her life, to destroy so many opportunities because she's in love with _him_?

"I want you. I don't want life with another human, or for you to make me forget about vampires," she says suddenly, her mind firmly set on this course. "I don't think that I could live without you, Myrnin. That scares me more than anything else, but…but I think that this is the right thing for me. After all, why would, _oh_!"

She begins to continue onto the fate conversation when he's suddenly pulling her into his arms – she needs to get used to vampire speed – and pressing his lips to hers, the same electric feeling spreading through her as before, but stronger, no longer marred by the alcohol. He's _hers_ now, he's hers and she's never letting him go; he may be a vampire, but he is able to feel, to love her as much as she loves him (_more_, probably), and this is the path she wants to go down in life.

As they stand on the Eiffel Tower, kissing as though there's no tomorrow, a thought hits her. "Hey, Myrnin…we're going to see your friend, tomorrow."

He smiles against her lips, his hands in her hair, and it's with a note of joy to his voice that he says, "finally; she's been wanting to meet you since I first met you. A word of warning, though. Amelie is _always_ right, no exceptions."

"Even with _you_?" Claire asks, incredulous.

"Even with me," he agrees. "But with you, Claire… I think you may be able to get away with murder, given that your appearance will cause her no end of happiness that she no longer has to worry about me."

_This is how it should be_.

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**an2:** Again, please don't favourite/read without reviewing, thank you.

Vicky xx


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